Living long past breathing
by Julie Carter
I’m right up there with the rest of you –stumbling and
bumbling through life the best way I know how and hoping to come out on the
other end a better person with at a least a few credits to my name when the
Book of Life is checked.
And just when I think I am occupying only a relatively small
space in the universe and moving only the air I touch, I learn that absolutely
isn’t so. If you have a pulse, you have a calling that counts for something.
I’ve written my fair share of “Empty Saddles” stories to
honor people that have ridden on out of this world to a better one. Some rode
their last horse, threw their last loop, kissed their last baby, sipped their
last coffee before accidents or illness took them without warning. I’ve written
a number of these missives about people I’ve never met.
I’m not at all new to writing features about people, but the
most usual and easy was when I could sit before them, hear them speak, watch
them smile as they recalled their lives. Often, I was in their home where their
personalities resonated from every area of their “space” with memorabilia and
photos lining the walls and shelves.
But sometimes,
those last words to outline their lives were written from what was said about
them from people who knew and loved them deeply. Miles away, over the phone,
with no face to go with the name they heard when they answered the call, these
bereaved wives, sons, daughters and friends gave me words to breathe life into
a remembrance of each of their dearest ones now gone.
While grief
was ever present in each of their voices, so was gratitude. Across the board,
those left behind were excited that their loved ones were being remembered,
being honored. They were more than willing to share with the world what was
wonderful, what was special, about the person they continued to mourn.
And laugh.
Each one of them could and did laugh about things they knew their respective
loved one would laugh about. With emotions tempered by a little time along with
some necessary acceptance, their sadness was blanketed with memories of happier
times.
Age, marital
status, geography, occupation and financial status were not factors in the
bottom line of loss. While a mother grieved over the loss of a young son in one
way, the wife, sons and daughters found an equally overwhelming crevasse in
their day to day lives.
What each
shared was the bottomless pit of loss forced by an emptiness that could not be
filled. Loss of a special grin, an easy-going personality or a dedicated driven
passion for life. The worn rough hand in a touch, the sound of boot steps in
the hall. Each person gone had affected many, many people in their living and
perhaps by divine ordinance, affected even more in their passing.
There is no
completion date to grieving, only stages. And those that have lost will do so
in their own way. But the lesson in that grief comes with an understanding beyond
the “ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
We are all
born, we will all die. We mattered at birth, we matter at death. But what
really matters is what happens in between. It is those things that remain in
the hearts and lives of those we leave behind. Those things that touched them,
mattered to them, stayed with them.
It’s never too
late to make a difference. My list started when I realized there are more years
behind than there are ahead. When I stacked up the memories I have next to the
ones I want to make, one side is a little taller than the other. But I’m not
done yet. And if you are reading this, neither are you. Get to work. There are
lives waiting to be touched.
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